Land of the Laid Off

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24.Jun.2002

Ok, it's not the end of the world. So my husband got laid off from Boeing. It's not like he died. If he had we'd be in a much better financial position, but that's a story for another time. Since we have four children that have a nasty habit of needing food and tend to grow after consuming food, we need to find a job. Maybe a couple of jobs.

Some new job ideas for me have come up, some of my own, some through friends. If they still want to be my friends they should stop giving me advice on jobs I could never land.

One friend called me all excited after hearing that the FBI is hiring. Oh yeah, me with a gun. Could you see that? A cookie gun maybe. She thought that since I'm bilingual they'd jump at the chance to hire me. Mm-hmm. They're always on the lookout for middle-aged housewives who can order tacos for them. Not to mention that they'd laugh themselves into a coma when I showed up for my fitness test. I actually went to the official FBI website to see what qualifications I'd need to become a sleuth. I didn't make it past the 'you must not be older than 37 years of age at the time of your appointment' part. Darn those age limits!

Another nearly former friend thought I could make money by standing on a street corner with one of those cardboard signs. Only my sign would be original. I'd be standing there wearing a spandex body suit and the sign would read, ' You think I look bad now? Please put five dollars in my bucket or I will strip and you will need therapy for the rest of your life'. She also thought that I could hire myself out as a natural appetite suppressant. One look at me in Lycra and you'd never want to reach for the refrigerator again. It's true that both ideas have merit. However, being the naturally modest type, I'm not inclined to bare it all. It's another age limit thing.

I may have come up with the perfect job. For me, not for my Boeing-rejected-husband. He’s on his own. No, this is something that would fulfill my need to be out in the adult world and bring home some serious money. I’d even be willing to put in some overtime on this one.

This is the ultimate job, the job that every over-burdened housewife with a laid off husband deserves; I’ll be a spa tester! You know, the places people with money go to relax and be pampered? Personally I'd think that actually having money would be relaxing, but how would I know? Places like the Wellness Spa & Salon at the Four Seasons Olympic Hotel where people go to get away from it all and have someone give them massages and facials. The only way I get away and have some down time is if I remember to actually lock the door when I go to the bathroom. Even locking the door doesn't mean a moment of peace and quiet. My five year old draws pictures, writes what words she can and slides them under the door to me. One time she actually slid buttered toast under the door. I swear I wasn't in there long enough to need a meal. Honest. Ok, maybe I was. But toast?

So as you can see, this job of critiquing a Spa's services would be something I could do and do well. Doesn't every major organization catering to the public hire people to test its employees for courtesy? I'd be willing to undergo the rigors of hour long massages at Gene Juarez to see if the masseuse is a conversationalist worthy of working with the likes of oh, say, Meg Ryan, who I'm sure already gets to go to the bathroom by herself without being served buttered toast. She's probably got live-ins to make sure her children don't bother her in the bathroom. The closest I've gotten to that is Nickelodeon and when a commercial hits I'm likely to be seeing things sliding under the bathroom door at me.

These Spa places need me.

Although, to be perfectly honest, I'm not sure how impartial I could be. I mean, if they simply left me alone in a room all by myself with no buttered toast being slid under the door I'd probably give them a four star rating. The silence alone would buy me off. I'm guessing this is yet another career opportunity lost to me. I think I'll go hide in the bathroom and put on my spandex body suit. Watch for me on a street corner near you soon. Oh, and please have your five dollars ready.

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